


A Duty Of Loyalty

by Jimlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Dark!Jim, M/M, NSFW, Pirate!lock, Piratelock, Pirates Arrgh!, Rape, johniarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimlockian/pseuds/Jimlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Holmes is caught by a young dark haired naval officer with a smirk. Captain  Moriarty throws the pirate's first mate, John, into his private quarters and Sherlock into the brig. Lust, scheming, and horror ensue..</p><p>Dark Pirate!lock, with a mix of Johniarty and Johnlock (Primarily JOHNIARTY). Will John stay with his pirate Captain, or will naval officer Jim pull him away by force?<br/>Rated EXPLICIT for non con (Dark!non con), graphic sex and pirate violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain Moriarty

**Author's Note:**

> While working on [Adventure On The Low Seas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/821252/chapters/1558922) (A prompt for R) my thoughts spiraled out of control. I came up with a dark Johniarty Pirate!lock slightly based on said prompt. Then my bff-beta gave me another prompt for a crueler Jim, and she used the idea for a [Swanqueen (OUAT)](http://skinnylittlelesbian.tumblr.com/post/51691150205/a-duty-of-loyalty-1-4), I combined the two to make this story and now we have twin fanfics! Hers is better though!  
> Multichapter in progress.
> 
> Credit to Doyle, Moffat, & Gatiss, no copyright infringement intended. Just having fun!

The ebony haired rogue of the seas watched as the naval ship came alongside them, cutlass in hand. Under the brim of his black Captain's hat with a flourish, Sherlock Holmes can see that the battle is lost but he will still fight. Though fanciful they are still pirates and that meant securing their nature under dubious means. Mostly illegal ones..

Thus why Captain Moriarty of the Royal Navy had been hounding Captain Holmes. They had engaged in a rousing little chase around one cape, then another. Always sailing out of sight at the last second but finally the superiority of the sleek government ship caught up to the pirates.

For the first time in years they are boarded.. In minutes Captain Holmes and his first mate John Watson, an ex-naval officer himself, have blades against their throats. Defeat.

Captain Jim Moriarty of Her Majesty's Royal Navy steps on board with a dour stare. The man is attired in the navy's finest, and black takes well to yield a posh look, though it takes little to appear posh beside pirates. His own finely suited soldiers have the pirates at the edge of swords and gun barrels, and he walks slowly through the rabblerousers. No rush, no concern, an air of absolute freedom as if he had all the time in the world.

One of the men lifts his weapon as Moriarty nears, but instead of flinching away he raises his hand, catching the blade in his palm and squeezing tight. As blood runs down his wrist, soaking into his sleeve, the royally endorsed privateer clasps his hand around the sword and yanks it free of the pirate's grasp.

There is silence among rouges and soldiers alike as he throws it onto the deck and walks away, blood dripping into the wood with each step. He moves gracefully, seeming to be unaffected by the ship's side-to-side yawing.

“You'll be taken back to England, hung, and tried in a court.” Announces Captain Moriarty to the pirate Captain once he stops at the stern of the ship, brushing off the sleek uniform with a frown. Dust, how the pirate ship could use a cleaning.. Well, one needn't worry about such when it is about to be burnt to a crisp.  
  
“It's tried, then hanged, iffin we're guilty!” Calls one obviously ignorant individual.  
  
Captain Moriarty shakes his head slowly, lifting the injured hand and gesturing fluidly with it in spite of his injury. “That's for the innocent citizens.” He speaks as if his verdict is law, and presently, it is. Jim takes off his wide brimmed hat, the edges curled upward elegantly. Jim fluffs the feathers on it with his bloodied hand before returning it nonchalantly to his head.

“Might as well make this quicker.” Captain Moriarty snaps his fingers and some grunt officers move to set up a plank.

The meaning is clear – Try the Captain, get rid of the lesser than. It will not even be considered a crime back home in England since they are pirates. In fact, Moriarty might get a proverbial slap on the back for clearing a few more scum off the map.

The crew all protest at once in a din of noise, a last burst of pleas to save them from Charon.

Moriarty chuckles under his breath, then raises his voice with sadistic joy, “Saving taxes, boys! Oh and him first.” His expression turns to a sneer as he points at the man who dared cut into his precious flesh.

The crew line up to meet their maker with John filing in along with them. Whenever they start to cut in back of each other the soldier poke them with the butt of their pistols or jab a blade against their flesh. Many still try and get closer to the back of the line this way – there is no honor among thieves, or dead men, and they are all doubly marked.

Captain Holmes is saved for the agony of enduring a trial that is unlikely to end in any other way than a hanging. Pirates who are caught do not live to tell their tales, and the sea is quickly becoming known. There are no more places to hide. So now poor Sherlock has to endure watching his crew, some scalawags, some loyal men, fall into the ocean – watches each man's trembling limbs, their final steps willingly taken, and worse yet their cries in the aftermath. Some are strong in the face of death, but fewer than one would imagine among hardened pirates.

Waiting is an agony unto itself, but it doubled when the man in front of John had taken his final step with a rather dignified silence. The wide blue ocean of hours earlier now a choppy black mess, befitting this internal chaos of the condemned men. All John can see is darkness – the sea so turned that it blends indistinctly with the tempestuous sky.

When John's turn is stark in front of him he thought about a pitiful attempt at rationalization – keeping his head above water, swimming to an island, keeping himself awake, not expending much energy, but instead of survival instincts comforting him, he only felt more alone taking that first step on the wobbly plank. It is going to lead to the same route – death.  
  
Captain Holmes squirms especially hard when John's turn approaches. “Captain, that is my first mate. He ought be tried as well.”

This is not common practice. It is not even worth considering in most cases. Except that the sullen Captain Holmes has not said one word since they took over the ship. Now he is as close to pleading as the man will likely get, if Moriarty is reading his rough exterior properly and he thinks he is.

“Put him in my quarters and truss him up.” Comments Captain Moriarty in a cool voice that finally displays the barest hint of his Irish roots. He smirks deviously at Captain Holmes, and turns to watch John go by with a confused but worried expression. 

When John looks over his shoulder his brows fall at the last glimpse of Captain Sherlock Holmes. That is when Jim knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he has made an excellent decision, because Sherlock visibly flinches even though he knows Captain Moriarty is watching.


	2. In Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I did say Dark Pirate!Lock.

It is not that Sherlock and Jim have met before, though it feels like they have - Perhaps in another life. The mere fact that this pirate Captain managed to outrun him for so long is an insult to Jim's honor. The naval man's honor is not the shining silver knighthood of others, of course, but Jim still has a code and dignity ranks high. Sherlock's existence has besmirched that dignity in Jim's eyes.

Destroying something the grim-lipped pirate holds dear seemed like a pittance of a compensation at first, but simply killing him would be far lower. Now, with John's browns searching his bedroom in confusion, the pittance seems enough. Not great, but enough. A little fun among the boring weeks of stagnancy of sea-life makes the deed rouse Jim's normally dulled interest.

“Take off your clothes.” Jim orders abruptly, impatient once the door closed behind him.

John colors a near fuchsia at the suggestion – months without port among a group of men does not leave one with many options, so John's mind immediately knows what sort of thing Jim is insinuating. He backs up while looking to and fro, desperate for any type of makeshift weapon.

Moriarty clicks his tongue to tut wild-eyed John's obvious intention. “I can run you through on my sword, or my men can.” The dark haired man removes his hat, feeling the ship careen from side to side as the storm rages on. Moriarty is calm, still entirely in control.

Knowing how poor his options are leaves John in a predicament he cannot fathom his way out of. When he does not move quick enough Jim approaches, and that is what gets him to slowly take off his thin weather-worn clothes. His flimsy breeches are left on, thumbs hooked under the top like suspenders, and John begins to stare down Jim.

It lasts for longer than either man expects before Captain Moriarty just chuckles softly, the sound unnerving John. He can read it in John's eyes now – beyond the apprehension is uncertainty. “Your Captain has never broken you in.”

“Captain Holmes taught me all there is to know under a sail.” John stiffly responds. The name of his former leader said with bound up pride.

“Not under sheets.” Jim continues with a hint of teasing that belies his true nature. It delights him to see John's color intensify. No, Sherlock taught John nothing carnal – to Jim that will make it all the more sweet to destroy what he never got a chance to have.  
  
The hungry gaze that comes over Jim's face as he begins to unbutton the outward wrappings of his starch naval uniform is what finally makes it sink in for John. The look in those dark eyes assures him that this is happening, will happen, and John is no more powerful than a wounded mouse before a lion.  
  
Without warning John rushes to a nearby table, grabbing hold of a brass candlestick and turning to defend himself. Like a shot from a pistol, Jim lunges him and claws on John's wrist. For a man with only a slight bit more height than he, Jim not only holds his own but clamps down so hard that John lets go. His features scrunch with defeat, the expression mottled with fear as Jim pushes him against the wall. The villain still holds John's wrist, now using the paling appendage for leverage.

“I'm not even good looking.” John mutters in a last ditch effort as the man looking back at him sneers lewdly. Instinctively John drops his gaze.

“Oh you're such a silly thing.” Jim murmurs. John's months at sea have vanquished the belly he had before arriving. Though not muscular he is a fine specimen without any visible lumps. Only a scar or two mar John, and Jim rather likes those light colored tendrils.  
  
The leering Captain lets go of John and moves away from him as if suddenly disinterested. Jim removes his finely embellished black jacket and tosses it over his desk while looking over his shoulder at John. The stare holds a thousand different images of what could happen – Jim's eyes told him what he was willing to let happen.

Alright, John may have accepted the inevitability of his situation logically, but the man's fighting spirit has been more than stirred and emotionally he is unwilling to give in to such a fate. Giving in to defeat without a fight is not John Watson's style. When Jim commands him to step forward, smirking with the upper hand, John rushes to attack instead and barrels into the man. The force is small, with little space between them to build momentum, but John lets his weight and Jim's work against them.

Captain Jim, upon finding himself falling backwards, quickly tucks his body in slightly so that when his back hits the floor he takes charge of their now joined force and rolls neatly. The thinner man is more agile and wiry than John had anticipated.

John finds the world briefly spinning once again, with Jim taking him ass over head. They land with a thud – Jim now atop John, and his back against a thin rug covering the wooden planks. John's a strong man, but he can recognize a master when he sees one and stares in awe of Jim. It lasts only a second, but fuels the next few minutes of Jim's smug grin.

“I didn't think you liked foreplay this rough, John.” Teases the Captain. He leans in far enough that his eyelids lower coquettishly, an ironically false advertisement. “You're going to have sex with me.” He whispers, words finite.  
  
John begins to push him off, struggling and still willing to fight. But the less willing Captain thrusts his slender hips forward, “Or.. walk the plank ye pirate.” He smirks at the pointed phrasing, eyes narrowing as he lobbed back a threat.  
  
Slowly John's body leans back down, his back hitting the coarse rug. John's tense frame does not uncoil from its sprung and waiting state. Tilting his head to the side he mutters, “Don't have much of a choice then.”

“You always have a choice.” Jim replies thickly, giving him a slight glare. Everything in life is a piece locking into something else, by Jim Moriarty's reckoning anyway, and even walking the plank is still a viable option. He knew tales of men who survived such – found islands, got picked up by a miracle of a passing ship. Everything is a choice, and everything has consequences.

When John is long silent and tame eyed Jim takes it as agreement enough. With their bargain – survival for body – enacted Jim makes swift work of collecting.

John does not care how far below deck his screams reach. He does not stop when nobody comes to his rescue. The pirate screams as there is no other outlet for his pain, and in that moment pain is all that matters.


	3. Life At Sea

For the first couple of days John did not leave the Captain's quarters. Although on the third day he made a poor attempt at escaping without any thought as to what to do afterward; overcome with the urge to flee, he wrapped himself in a sheet (Captain Moriarty had gotten rid of his clothes) and tried to escape..  
  
John had been struck with an episodic blow of emotion. Instead of emptiness he was suddenly raging with fear once again, trembling among the same sheets that had been soiled the night Jim had taken him. For no reason his wrists were throbbing as if still pinned down, and the bruises along his pelvis started to ache. This time he did shed not a tear, but lay trembling until overcome to try and flee.

Some of the crew brought him back, and later gave him a bath – which was an uncomfortable and torrid affair. A few were muttering comments under their breaths at the sight of swollen red hickeys, blistering scratches, dark crusted blood stains, and mottled purple-yellow bruises. Finally John pushed them away from the small washtub and sat trembling in the water alone until long after it grew frigid.

* * *

  
The first few days Jim ignores him, but John is still recovering when Jim starts to run hot and cold. One hour he can be angry, swearing at John and beating him at times. For such a slender man his fists can rain down blows that break the calloused pirate's skin. Then in the next hour, he is remarkably different and John does not know who he is seeing, but it's certainly not Captain Moriarty... This stranger makes quips and acts, not friendly per say, but approachable and at least acknowledging John's existence. Most of the time the dull eyed pirate just shrinks further into the bed like he could blend into the sheets and be forgotten, but occasionally he still wonders why.

When food is brought for him John expects the Captain wants him alive longer to continue his abuse, a thought that brings shivers, but finds root in John's mind all the more for them. He is being kept alive for this twisted game. Life at sea is a lonely and dangerous one indeed, but never in his wildest dreams could John imagine anything remotely similar to this.

* * *

  
Knowing that his use is for the Captain's pleasure made what happened that morning six days later all the more peculiar. It is the first morning he tries to eat something. A piece of toast – a bitter benefit to being in the Captain's quarters while down below the meal was always a soppy nasty consistency gruel, the occasional tidbit, and rum. He snatches it up from the sybaritic Captain's table and is about to take it into bed when the door opens, stilling him like a deer.

“Don't let me stop you, lad,” Jim murmurs under his breath while the corner of his lip ascends ever so slightly. He takes his eyes off still-naked John and looks toward his plush bed, exhaling, “Well, let's not get crumbs there.”  
  
Part of John wants to drop the no-longer-worth-the-effort toast and hide again, maybe have another good cry, but another part of him is sick of this arrogant sod. Sick of living in loathing. He thinks that it would be worse to give in and run like some hound, so instead John sits down and ignores Jim. John pretends to be completely absorbed in the dry, crunchy toast that he can barely taste.

Captain Moriarty does not let attention waver away from himself for long. He leans over the back of John's chair, setting his hand on a well scratched shoulder and feeling the raised healing flesh. The fresh series of marks rivals John's permanent scar on the other shoulder in prominence.

“I was a little rough,” Jim murmurs, leaning down to whisper in John's ear, “You're still being broken in.”  
  
John only just finds it in himself not to cry out with some noise of discontent. His toast triangle falls and he lowers his hand demurely.

“Sensitive John..” Whispers Jim, running his hand down John's front and caressing one of John's nipples in a slow tease.

“Please don't.” John mutters, unable to stop himself from saying it now even if it did not work before.

Jim shushes him gently, tilting his head to nip at John's earlobe. The man begins to thumb John's slowly, shamefully responsive body. After a few minutes of teasing, during which John remains still, shell shocked, but his body forsakes him physically, Jim walks around to the front.

The man's pupils blow wide at the sight of hazy eyed, shirt unbuttoned Jim getting down on his knees between John's legs – why? All John can think is why? It has been quite clear that this is all about Captain Moriarty's pleasure, so when the man takes his just stirring limp shaft between his lips for a lick it perplexes John more than arouses him.

Then, without warning, anger strikes like lightning and John lifts his leg and plants his foot on Jim's shoulder and in the same swift motion kicks the naval officer off him.


	4. John's Reprisal

Though Captain Moriarty grunts at the kick, it is not loud enough to get anyone's attention outside. A few men are humming and singing as they work under the blazing sky that everyone averts their eyes from.

Jim gets to his feet swiftly, an agile and formidable foe with narrowed yet willing eyes. This is nothing more than a challenge, says the grim set of his features, and he is either mad for competition or hungry for valor – John is not yet sure which. Captain Moriarty takes on a fighting stance with his hands up, palms forward as he does so love to scratch and claw when an opening presents itself. He moves forward at the weakened captive who rushes up to meet him.

Unfortunately for Jim, John has sparred with Captain Holmes and held his own many a time before now. In spite of height, John makes for a wonderfully efficient and clever foe who uses not only his own strength but takes the force of his opponent and uses it against him. This, coupled with his rage fueled adrenalin, rockets him at Jim with a punch that knocks the man's nose to spew red.

With his second hand still swinging forward John throws an uppercut into Jim's jaw and rattles the man into a stumble backward. All it takes is a straight forward jab to get the Captain back against the bed, bloodied up. Almost too easy, but John is too busy huffing with satisfaction at the sight of his kidnapper sprawled out, injured by his very hand.

John Watson is a fairly kind man in general terms, and as far as pirates go he is a downright saint, but any man with a fair mind can be pushed to do what he normally would not. If the push to get him there is heinous enough, a man will sink. Presently, John is sinking.

Sinking with good reason considering the toying this man before him had done. Moriarty had let him run around the room a little, before chaining him up. The subtlety of his obnoxious enjoyment of the horrible memory in John's mind stuck fast as the tar they were scrubbing outside on deck.  
  
The feeling of shame as Jim had violated him days ago is as ripe as the night it had happened. John has gone from feeling lifeless to surging electricity within him. Jim moves back on the mattress using his elbows, and John leers over him with an unfamiliar feeling. In all his life anger so unbridled has ever existed. No emotion had taken hold of him the way this one does now.  
  
John's heavy hand takes up the knife in Jim's belt, surprised the man has not used it to defend himself. Jim has been leaning back, wide eyed and still in a way that John can only assume is shock. No matter to John, who is already taking the tip of the blade along the Captain's clothing to divest him of it.

At the first little nick John nearly flinches, but then he remembers the man beneath him using his teeth on him. He remembers this man tonguing at John's blood and making noncommittal noises of amusement. John cuts into him with no remorse after that; Small, shallow wounds that are nothing more than red rebellion lines drawn by an army of one.

John flips Jim over before the man's breeches are fully removed, taking his knife and raising it up. The blade glints in the morning sunlight streaming in a window overlooking endless ocean. The tormented part of him that wants to cry enraged and slam the blade down into Moriarty's back is being stilled by the part of him that will only fight a man face to face.

No matter how pushed he is, John Watson does not want to be the kind of man to stab another in the back. Screaming for solace from every fiber of his being may hurt him horribly, but he cannot bring himself to kill James Moriarty even with the opportunity presenting itself.

The butt of the blade's hilt falls against one of the Captain's bared cheeks instead. John finds comfort in laying down bruises that will not come half as close to matching the ones he still bears. The more he causes the near motionless Captain pain, the more he can remember until John has to focus on pushing it away and becomes consumed by attacking Jim. The passion of violence blocking the anguish in his mind.

Jim's back has plenty of forming bruises and a few blood stains. Not a horrific sight to be sure, but enough visible proof to start John to slow down. The is worst indignity of all – the reason he spent the first few days in bed – is that John has been terrified of Jim, just because of what his position allows him to do, but not anymore. He grips Jim's left buttock with his free hand, digging his nails in.

John can only think of the pain when he still aches within him from time to time. Sitting in the chair at breakfast this morning had been uncomfortable, and it was Jim's fault. All of it is his fault. John drives his pelvis forward and rocks against the nude man's inflamed plush backside.

There is just enough cushion to Jim's buttocks to make it a smooth arch for John. The physical touch stirs him in a way that vengeance does not. Though John would have never considered himself to be the sort of man who could do such a thing, let alone enjoy it, his body is starting to respond to the thought of carrying out Jim's rape as an act of revenge.

All he can think of is the way his body undulates against Jim's flushed cheeks and the perfect way his cleft lets John's swelling shaft sink in and slide along. Desiring more, he leans over Jim and holds him in place while fumbling with his clothes, and occasionally pauses, bringing his hand down hard against Jim's rear to keep the man from squirming away. Whenever Jim tries to move across the bed John is hard against him.

John slides his stiffening shaft against Jim and groans at the touch of their skin together. Unlike Jim's attack, this feeling is downright serendipitous. Jim is all soft supple skin that his shaft glides against effortlessly. John smears the slightly pale bottom with his slow humping.

He recalls a flash of memory and pushes it aside before it can finish. Though he does tighten his fist until his nails drive bloody C-shapes into Jim's skin and John ends up with red tipped fingers. Jim barely squirms at the touch, but does move when John speeds up a little against him.

Not only does John need to hurt Jim the way that Jim has hurt him – holding him down and forcing the same pain onto Jim - but John needs to take back his pleasure. Strangely, he finds that possible with the evil man who seems to have mental ups and downs as often as he drinks his tea. Jim's body is gorgeous even in injury, all taut and slender tanned skin. The man is a sexual wildcat with a body to match.

Suddenly his veins coursed with energy and John lines up their bodies. Jim tries to squirm away, nearly making it to the pillows, when John hauls him back by the hips. In a vice grip, the militant man is held still and John pushes into him without any preparation.

Jim Moriarty cries out, turning his head down and muffling the sound with the aid of his bed. His hips tremble for a few minutes and John tries to revel in the feeling without letting that niggling voice in the back of his head grow any louder.

When John moves all he thinks about is the constriction and heat. The lascivious slap of their skin together at each thrust is his way of being sure to drive in as carelessly deep as Jim had done to him. Though aroused and soon pushed to moaning as he nears his peak, John cannot find that small push. Even with Jim's muscles now tightening around him, minutes go by with John unable to come.

John pulls out and sits down with a quiver to his form, burying his face in his calloused palm. The pirate remains on the edge of the bed sobbing for a good long time while his captor sticks to his sheets, eventually falling asleep.

* * *

 

The readers of this may well be asking themselves why Captain Moriarty has been unmentioned in spite of his heavy role in this tale. For you see, he has been still for the most part - lying on his stomach quite stiffly at first, relaxing slowly as John got more into the act.

For Jim is very pleased with himself indeed. Things have gone smashingly according to plan, as the madman's machinations so often go. Finally John has snapped out of his dozy eyed state back into the warrior he truly is. Not only did he get to test John's spirit, but he was freely given the delight of the pirate's pleasure.

He even faked trying to crawl away, glad to be facing away from John as Jim had been busy smirking during each pretend escape. When John leaves his body, Jim had already reached his climax earlier and lay comfortably in his own mess. _All in all, though, John truly is a bit of a pushover_ , Jim thinks as he finishes counting his teeth and finding none missing nor loose, before drifting off to sleep.

 


	5. Muddling

Retribution falls to people who bare their teeth at those in stations above their own. This is a common fact that life well ingrains into the lower classes more than the uppers, as the lowers bear such burdens. This is the plague of their time, and such is John's lot to be one of those rogues of the sea – the lowest of the low, unless they are never caught.

Pirates are always caught, that is the problem.. Sooner or later they are found. With the shrinking bare spaces on the globe, and the increasing backing of navies everywhere, they have become an endangered species within a few years' time. Piracy is a dying breed.

Even the most inoffensive seeming action can be punished if witnessed by an aristocrat, a diplomat, or a government man – often one man is all at once. So John, being a no-good pirate, expects severe retribution for his conduct against Captain James Moriarty.

He envisions himself walking the plank, and going all the way to its wet conclusion this time. He sees himself feverishly stabbed by several blades, or shot in vital organs and bled out slowly. A myriad of possibilities play out against his mind as Jim sleeps, then he gets up, dressing himself without a word.

John stiffens when Jim stirs, watching and waiting. Nothing came, not even a glance. The hairs on the back of John's neck were still up when Jim left the room, walking a little less evenly then usual.  
  
The distinctive silence that has marked Jim's departure lingers with John, whose soul is in a muddling mood. It lightens his spirit for a moment via distraction, letting him consider Jim's intense taciturnity. The naval Captain is the first man who seems to be as much of an enigma as Captain Holmes.

Captain Holmes had been a figure John understood, a little more as the days went on, but right away the man rejected by his navy had found a place within the pirate's ship. Comparatively, Captain Jim is dangerous and cruel, befuddling John with his fleeting impassive reactions one moment and explosive outbursts the next.

For the rest of that day John remains brooding and dour faced. He says nothing to Captain Moriarty, and the Captain says nothing to him. When night falls John steals one sheet from the bed and squirms to the floor. Oddly, he does not mind sleeping under Jim's bed – the spot an escape within Jim's single roomed quarters where there are not many options. After a little while he barely hears the other man shifting in bed above him.

* * *

 

  
Days go by where Jim and John pass like ships in the night. Moriarty leaves early in the morning to maintain his ship and order his crew, while John is left behind, trapped in a lavish single roomed cell. Twice John tries to leave, and twice Jim's fists thrash against him for the attempts.  
  
Yet, between Jim's occasional fits of madness is more of his converse kindness. Sometimes he personally fetches a rarity at sea and brings it to John like a feline with prey in its mouth. There is never any explanation to go along with the small gestures, and John rarely accepts them.

When night falls Captain Moriarty returns to his room like clockwork. John is normally bored enough after an uneventful day that he stares at the man as Jim relaxes in his room. Sometimes they go a great deal of time observing each other, neither making comment, nor inflaming their stare. Jim's dark gaze is a touch curious to the point of being calculating, and John is always trying to decipher Jim with his eyes. One or the other will look away, and nothing more is done.

All he can see is the clear cut of Jim's dark hair that sticks to his skull after a long day under the boiling sun. The Captain always looks controlled, no matter how little he wears, though none of his clothes are truly informal. Given the opulent touches of decor to the room this does not surprise John, though it takes him awhile to notice. Jim is a prim individual, never slouching, never conceding to his tired body.

Yet, small quirks of his brow or expressions leaving inklings of lines against his face leave John feeling like this composure is a facade. Something writhes under his skin. When John looks into Jim's dark gaze he feels as if looking into the eyes of a man not calm, but screaming from a possessed soul.  
  
Their shared stare at times would break off as Jim turns upon John's visage and seems to soften. The slightest narrowing of Jim's eyes and John felt a need to cover himself, yet when they stare like that Jim does not unsettle him. If anything those gentle looks are the easiest to bear.

A few nights later John is reminded of the nefarious man's temper – a fact that is lost on him in those stares. It starts due to the languishing hours of inactivity placed on John. Something that a pirate is used to, but at least back then he still had daily duties with which to occupy himself. However, being a captive, John has no duty. So, needing something to do, he tries to plan some sort of escape; Knock out the Captain, and at the changing of the guard sneak out, find Captain Holmes, get to a longboat, confiscate it, and start rowing away.

Captain Moriarty might have been less volatile of late, but he shows no greater inclination to let John escape. A pirate that is captured hangs, and in this world that is a sobering fact to John Watson. Jim is in no way any less of an enigma, and Captain Holmes' capture makes it clear that he will surely hang, so John decides to act. Thus, the plan was born and John waited with baited breath for Moriarty to enter the room.  
  
As straightforwardly logical as John's plan is, perhaps even plausible should all the stars align, it never makes it past the first stage. Unfortunately, knocking out Jim Moriarty is not as easy as John thought.  

The vase held above his head crashes down onto the center of the Captain's hat with all the force John's stiffened muscles can muster. Jim stumbles for a moment, but instead of passing out he comes back with a swift curling punch that lands in John's chest.

For a second, as John gets pushed back by the momentum, Jim only stares at the man with wild eyes, feeling a torrent of anger welling up inside him. Yet just as bittersweet chocolate has a certain appeal, so did this emotion from an equally sweet underlying taste – John fighting back.

To Jim, anger is just one's body living, pulsing so strongly that suddenly it almost seems worthwhile. Anger incites emotion within him – anger is something he can play with. So he takes in a breath and looks upon John, his locks a touch longer from his stay. Jim thinks it adds to that scraggy pirate appeal. With a slight smirk Jim closes the gap between them, and viciously punches the brown haired man.


	6. Taste Of Shame

Watching the pirate go down is bemusing – John grunts, and his hair catches the sunshine to accent brief blond highlights acquired at sea that, now, trapped indoors, are just starting to fade. Some muscles are even loosening, growing lax in a stage just before atrophy from disuse. Yet while his body might be dulling, his mind is not.

Thinking that Jim is punishing him, instead of the reality of playing with him, John snarls at him. “I need to escape, or I know I'll die.” John grits his teeth as the words leave him, not wanting to plead, to this man above all others, but feeling desperate all the same. Pirates hang.

Meanwhile, Jim is considering John's middle as he is sprawled out on the floor. He lifts his hand and smacks John across the face in a fluid motion, sending his head jerking to the side. Not enough to bleed, but more than enough to leave a stinging red print. No, Jim notes, even though John is eating better now and working less he has still not attained a round, jiggly belly.

“Is that not what I am doing – keeping you safe?” Questions Jim with a raise of his shapely brows.

John wants to scream and cry, but is too flabbergast to do more than stare hopelessly at Jim. Silence sat listlessly between them. Is the man truly insane - to think that outrunning death a little longer, staring down the precipice that is their final destination, is kind? To John it is prolonged torture to be a dead man walking.

Seconds after the silence began it is broken. John does manage a response, which is heard two decks below, “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“Depends upon who you make the inquiry to.” Jim murmurs teasingly, not only collected but dropping from anger to arousal in a moment. He bites back a chuckle when John groans in disbelief and frustration.

Jim moves closer to the pirate, putting his hand on the brunette's crown and watching him twist the ratty strands away. “Now John..” He tuts in a purring voice loaded with sickening sweetness; John recognizes the sound trying to temper out some forthcoming poison. “I will not hurt you tonight if you take care of me with that ardent mouth. If you don't I'll take you by force and,” He begins to grin now, “Won't that be fun either way?”

Jim loosens his dark militant jacket as he moves, leaving John in a state of shock upon the floor. The Captain walks across the room and begins undressing while John is stuck considering his options – by now he knows better than to think Moriarty is joking. Their belligerent initial encounter weighs heavily on his mind, and John cannot fathom an encore.

John's rounded face heats when the naked villain walks across the room, purposefully sauntering to catch John's averted gaze. He slowly decides to yield, for his options are few – the man will have him, one way or another. Let it be on John's own terms.

When John begins to stand and walk over Jim points low, “On your knees.” The command a small reminder that John did not need. He is aware who controls his fate while they sail toward his doom, but, God help him, he needs to live another day.

That not yet destroyed need to continue his existence is what makes John slowly lower to his knees. As much as his mind tells itself that this is a deliberate trade-off he still feels sleazier than a Tortugan whore. An old naval wound in his shoulder acts up from the position, sending a soft pain along the back of his shoulder. His ache spreads like a web expanding as he arrives between Moriarty's legs.

The Captain is nearly exhibiting himself to John, with his legs spread on either side to stretch his body taut. John first notices the perky little hole nearly obscured by the sight of a flushed set of balls. He looks away at the wave of shame hitting him with their forthcoming intimacy, but slowly the pirate raises his eyes.

Jim's sac is about twice the width of his member, hanging snuggly to his body. So smooth all the way through that John has to wonder how Moriarty manages it out here at sea. His shaft stiffening already, leaning toward Jim's slender stomach with a slight curve to the right. Shades of red over that beige sleekness.

The nefarious man's voice breaks John from his wide eyed moment. “Stop staring.” Jim orders, “Get in bed.”  
  
With permission given John crawls up the side of the bed like some bug, feeling just as much a nuisance. He blushes as Jim shifts his hips, turning his body sideways without getting up off his back. The Captain keeps his legs towards John, making the future pointedly unavoidable.

John's eyes follow the curving seam separating Jim's balls within his sac while he swallows hard and leans over. Nervous flutters in his stomach increase as the proximity shortens, bringing a musky bitter scent to his nostrils. His lips part with uncertainty, and before John can truly consider his next move, Jim bucks his hips and rubs the head of his shaft over John's lips.

John flashes crimson at the touch of Jim's hot foreskin, moving backward instinctively. Jim lifts one leg and kicks him in the side as a reminder, making John move forward and slowly lean his head in for an cautionary lick. The taste is a bit unpleasant but not as bad as he expects. That thought gets pushed out of his mind as Jim's hips force him to take in more.

Soon John's lips are pushing back on Jim's foreskin, his eyes closed though that hardly helps. He still feels every brush of flesh, the head seems to have bubbled over, feeling larger and slicker in John's mouth from something other than his own spit. The hard length now at full prominence.

“Teeth back.” Jim snipes at him abruptly.

His eyes snap shut as John tells himself to focus, to get this over with. This is much easier than the alternative, but it still startles him to try working his mouth over his captor's erection. John feels a hand on the back of his neck, tightening the slower he goes. He moves faster, keeping his head low and not going too far down on Jim's shaft, which is apparently a problem because Jim starts apply pressure to his nape, driving John down further.

Jim's hips lightly undulate, intermittent moans filling the room. John tries to ignore them while closing his lips, bringing a hand up to grasp what he could not fit in his mouth. Jim shoves him down, the hand not enough. The lighter colored head glistens between his lips in those rare moments it escapes his mouth. A few wrinkles mar Jim's sac, though neither notices but Jim can feel his body growing tense.

John has the pulse of Jim's heart, pressing against his right cheek inside of his mouth through the invasive shaft. He groans and Jim fists into his hair, making John realize the vibrations must please him. He finds himself making more, forcing himself to groan, until Jim starts spilling down John's shameful throat.


	7. Eye Of Jim's Storm

Jim acts cordially to John for the rest of that night, but John cannot seem to find it in him to eat the offered molasses sweets, or really look at Jim. The events of the evening play out in his mind over and over. Jim grows bored of trying and pushes John out of bed to sleep.

The next day John assumed they are returning to their on-off relationship where Jim displays a bipolar shifting of emotional extremes to John, who seems to be expected to take them all without question. He is right of course..  
  
However, it all starts to change that night at dusk - a fortnight after John has been captured; On the night of a storm as violent as the one under which Captain Holmes' vessel had been attacked and taken.

The ship hems and haws as the waves whip it back and forth, faint creaking riveting through the moist air down below deck. John gets tossed around for several minutes before he finds himself unable to sit still any longer. He starts to open the door of Moriarty's quarters, getting it ripped from his hand by a violent gale sweeping through.  
  
The sail is billowing as it ought not be as the array of well dressed soldiers scamper about on the teak wood. So many hands on deck, yet none seem to notice the giant problem swaying back and forth. A sail heaves to one side from a great gust of wind that pulls it taut, threatening to rip it off the mast with its strength.

"Reef it!" Cries John as loud as he can yell, but the tumult drowns him out among the sea spray. With no option left he runs to the sail, grabbing hold of one of the specially cut holes in the bottom. He has to fight to bring the line through it one handed, but soon others spotted him and rush to his aid.

The sail gets tied down and they continue to lurch forward into the gray sky. For a little while John stays - out of an all hands on deck necessity - but soon the roaring waves crashing over the deck are not the only unsettling features. He can feel eyes on him, an outsider, a prisoner.  
  
Of course, being nude because Jim absconded with his clothes the first night, and still refuses him a new outfit, is probably not helping the stares. Instead of pity for the markings on his body, they have nothing in their eyes but loathing for John.

Behind him up on the quarterdeck stands Jim, getting a good view of the whole scene. The naval leader watching his men, shouting orders that are witnessed in gestures more then they are heard. Though he grows quiet and narrow eyed watching John, and marches down irately.

“Pirate, what are you doing?” Snaps Captain Moriarty.

“Just – helping.” The humble man's eyes convey his sincerity – there is something honest about those eyes, just as there is something dishonest about the mirthful-one-moment-vicious-the-next naval Captain's.  
  
Even through the suddenly whipping wind John can hear that snarl from Jim. “Get back in your room.” He does not need volume to sound menacing.

With the ship leering violently back and forth and so many unfriendly eyes he accepts that order without complaint. It is almost a reward to escape the Captain, the crew, and the storm, more than it is a punishment.

John knows that once the storm dies down a little, and the crew gets the ship's rigging in order, that Jim will come in. Soon enough he is shown that his shipboard knowledge is still sharp even if rusty, because in walks the Captain with an irate expression. “What were you doing?”

“It was awful out there, what did you expect – me to sit by, while they needed help?” John frowns deeply as Jim appears to find that unacceptable, or maybe he just does not understand it. Either way, silence is the only reply.  
  
“What if the sail had ripped?” John continues, as if this turn of logic might get he Captain to understand why he felt so compelled to help those who held him captive.

Jim is finding it a touch peculiar. The pirate had a display of not quite honor, but a sense of communal humanity that went deeper than what his own men have. Men who fight for their crown, yet are usurped in dignity by a pirate. That fact is not lost on Jim, though it does not sit well with him, like some half digested meal.

“Isn't that doing what you want?” John mutters begrudgingly, finally giving up on getting Jim to understand him. He turns his downcast eyes away, lashing out softly, “We get back to port quicker if the sail isn't ripped!”  
  
“Why would you think I want that?” Jim's face scrunches in confusion, the edges of his lips piling in on one side.  
  
John's eyes wrinkle with distaste that also starts to dry out his mouth. “Do you just want to torture me some more?” He mutters out the words with a vehement undertone.

“Torture?” Jim says with such false innocence that John is tempted to smack him across the face. In John's memory the feel of his wrists bound, and body writhing helplessly during that first horrid affair, is still rich with episodic vividity.

“I don't think you could manage to treat someone proper.” John remarks in a last ditch effort to gain some bitter motivation behind his weakening words. There is little left that Jim can do, that he has not already done, and the effectiveness of the other man's anger wanes on him.

“If that is an attempt at getting me to bluster up and act kindly to you, it's a pathetic one.” Jim mutters snidely, only to have John roll his eyes.

As the pirate sinks into a chair Jim studies his lackadaisical form for a long time before replying thickly. “Do you oft go out in storms naked?” The faint blush that remark earns colors down John's chest.

For the rest of the evening Jim leaves John alone.


	8. Tipping The Scales

_John groans and hoarsely whispers, “Please..” The word stop never makes it, instead a whine rips out of him while the Captain's hand comes down on the small of his back. John arches against the pain..._

Sitting up in a cold sweat John finds himself thrashed into a state of wakefulness. He is pulled out of his nightmares, thankfully, but back in reality he is stuck in a more realistic nightmare - curled up as far near the edge of the bed as he can to not be touching Jim, who snoozes peacefully. It bewilders John that a man with such a dirtied conscious can sleep so well.

The evening had been uneventful, and the Captain himself was downright tame all night. However, John's dreams were less obliging, forcing him to relive that first night in graphic detail, and now... He looks around the dim room, only lit up by moon beams straining to get in through the thin panes of glass on the other side of the quarters. Now John is reminded that little has changed.

Still trapped like a hopeless slave.  
  
Emotion wells up inside him, threatening to burst free if it consumes him. John climbs out of bed, wanting to be away from the Captain. He turns to look at the man sleeping so peacefully. Jim almost looks benign in his sleep. The image unsettles John, whose stomach flip-flops, and after a moment of hesitation he lifts the edge of the mattress on his side and tips Jim out of bed.

Watching the Captain sprawl to the hard floor, sheets and all, is worth whatever consequence he receives for it. Jim is woken by the crash, sitting up and cursing more eloquently than most sailors.

Those imperishable dark eyes rivet to John while a deep frown etches itself further down Jim's face. Slowly John lets his grip on the sheets go, swallowing hard. Maybe it will not be as worthwhile as he thought after all...

Instead of stalking over like a flash Jim rises slowly, allowing himself the time to stare unblinkingly at John, to communicate his displeasure without words. He walks around the bed with a careful step, keeping his eyes on his prisoner.

The firm set of Jim's jaw is what unhinges John. That look is reminiscent of the first night.. John nearly takes a step back, but there is no point – he knows by now that there is nowhere to hide within the room. So when Jim meets him there is no surprise when a smack hits him across the face. No surprise and no urge to fight back.  
  
John is not sure how he takes the beating while standing. He cannot fight back anymore, tired after the many days of doing so without accomplishment. Jim's rigid fists pummel up a few new bruises.

“And I was downright excellent!” Jim bellows in that posh voice, sounding a touch dragged down due to his tired state. This is the repayment he gets for leaving John be tonight? He slugs the brunette with a final lighter blow against his cheek, enough to teeter John's balance and send the pirate to massage his jaw.  
  
“Excellent?” Snaps his victim with bitter loathing. John is too finished with the physical, but he is still sick of Jim's peculiar attitudes. The man is an oddity John cannot comprehend, even after being stuck in such a close proximity with Jim Moriarty. “I may be a pirate.” Ignoring the ache in his face, his stomach, his sides, John raises his voice, “But you're a cur! A coward!”

“Someone is a cranky lad..” Jim mutters irately, lifting his hand, palm open, in threat.

Frustration explodes from the normally tolerant man, but nothing about this situation is normal, or tolerable. “No! You  sonuvabitch!” He hauls back and drives his fist against Jim's face, feeling deep mirth now that blood starts to drip out of the Captain's nose.

John breaths deeply, shaking his head slightly. “Sod this! Kill me.” John snaps.

Jim levels him with a stare of disbelieving amusement and a hint of annoyance. He tuts John and walks over to grab a handkerchief from his desk, using it to stem the bleeding.

“Go on,” He continues, “I mean it. I'll only just die when we hit land. I'd rather die now then have to deal with whatever else you'd do.”

Jim observes him while he speaks, brows knit together. “Do you really mean that?” Jim asks impassively.

“The hell do you THINK?!” John screams at him.  
  
“That's a shame.” Jim murmurs, voice like a silk covered dagger. Each step back to the pirate feels drawn out between them. John is waiting for the blade to slide through, and is sorely disappointed at being right when it does. “Your Captain will miss you.”  
  
“H-He's still alive?” John's voice rises with disbelief. This could be a trick – another stupid ruse by the psychopathic Captain – and he would not be surprised if it is a lie, but John wants so badly to believe that Sherlock is alive. John wants it so badly that he allows himself to. “You left Captain Holmes alive?”

“Of course, I am only doing my duty.” Jim reminds craftily. Indeed, as a naval Captain in Her Majesty's royal navy he is obliged to bring in the lead evil-doers. Unless they have risen to notoriety and require a dead-or-alive approach (as dictated by the Crown of course), Captains are brought in to face the noose, after the perfunctory performance of a trial.   
  
Instead of giving up, now John wants to know more; How is Sherlock? Has he thought of John? Is he afraid? John doubts the last one, but after the time he has spent on this wretched ship he feels so much fear, so why not the same of Holmes? Who knows what has happened to him... John's heart sinks at the thought that what Jim has done to him might have been done to Sherlock, too.  
  
“John..” Jim finishes mopping up his nose, seeming much less perturbed as time inches along. “I'll let you see him.”

John's lips part in amazement but they quickly snap up. There has to be a catch, or this is a trick. He cannot understand why suddenly Jim would allow this.  
  
“If,” Jim begins, and John is crestfallen – of course it cannot be as simple as that, “.. you give me a kiss.” He waits for a moment as John tries to absorb that odd trade-off, but Jim is impatient, “Now.”

 


	9. Captain, My Captain

That sudden word leaves John only seconds to scramble mentally. There is no time for actual processing of Jim's offer, or any opportunity for questioning what it entails. After fleeting seconds a single brow of Jim's rises up and John is hit with the fear that the chance to see Sherlock has passed right through his fingers.

“W-” Jim begins to speak, having had enough of the silent dumbfounded look on John's face. He is shortly cut off by the pirate, whose attention ignites at the clipped noise out of Jim.

Pulled from his dithering, John lunges at Jim to seize the only opportunity he has been offered so far. Jim's offer still obfuscates his mind, yet the chance to see Sherlock is too great to throw aside – no matter the cost.

Thick fingers wrap around Jim's shoulder, curving inward toward his nape. John considers the Captain to bear the mind of a fox, and he hopes a little physical touch will control it at least long enough for the kiss to be over. His other hand tightens in a fist, as it turns his stomach to press his lips to Jim's while the memory of Jim forcefully doing the reverse rests heavily inside him.

Oddly, he knows the peculiarly definitive man will want a real attempt – Jim will not be mollified by a peck, that is not the sort of man he has proven himself to be to John's eyes. So John thrusts his loneliness into the kiss, he reaches for Jim's lips as if slaking his thirst with them, and Jim immediately responds to him with rising passion. Jim takes John's reaching out and intensifies it exponentially.  
  
It tastes like the tinge of heated metal, but that may be from the bloody nose Jim had moments earlier. Underneath is a touch of cinnamon and some acidity John cannot place, nor does he want to really, but it is difficult to ignore when brought into his mouth by a swampy tongue from the equivocal Captain.

They do not stop until panting for breath, because Jim does not let John – when the pirate pulls back Jim catches a lip between his teeth and John relents. This happens twice before they are struck down by their biological need for air. Their chests lightly brushing from the closeness born from their embrace.  
  
John has to turn his head away, leaving his warm moist breath falling against Jim's ear. “Sherlock?” He breaths out wistfully, sounding torn.  
  
A slight smirk shadows Jim's face as John opens distraught yet hopeful eyes. “Jim.” Snipes his opponent, tilting his head to let a dash of tongue dip between his lips to swat teasingly across John's, punctuating the reminder.

John begins to tremble as he pulls away from Jim, feeling a need to get out of contact. He breaks away like a bird in flight, though he turns back and repeats himself. “Captain Holmes?”

“Tomorrow, it's late after all, John.” Now back to a casual air, Captain Moriarty climbs into bed, pulling the thick woolen coverings around him. He shifts into a comfortable position on his side, ignoring the sudden keening cry of frustration from John. Jim waits for a few seconds to see if his bed will be tipped once more, but all he hears is the rustling of a blanket and the door closing as John tries another attempt at leaving the Captain's quarters.  
  
Jim stays in bed, ignoring John. He is busy rubbing his tongue across his lips, tasting the coppery sweetness they made that night.

* * *

 

  
What really bewilders John is that the Captain has stayed in his room and spoken to no one – so why is there a change? This time John is left alone on deck, instead of rough hands hauling him back inside. How could Jim have known in advance to change the rules? It unsettles John immensely, but even that could not distract from his mission of finding Sherlock Holmes.

The ship's underbelly is full of various figures – some still working even as late as this while most others are snoozing in hammocks or straw beds. John tightens the blanket around his bare form, feeling like a pup with its hackles raised while he tiptoes through the ship. That overshadowing fear of being pulled away at any moment hangs over him, growing more convex by the second with the threat of bursting into a full blown panic at any moment.

Deep below, up toward the bow, John finds himself away from the crew and down a dim hall. The moment he sees grate work he grows excited, the first proper thrill he has felt since their capture. He rushes forth and his fears abate, for there he spies Captain Sherlock Holmes, a little haggard by time and ill treatment, but alive.

“Captain Holmes!” John cries elatedly, as if suddenly seeing the Heavens part and a deity stepping before him, instead of just a rustling movement from the waking mortal. “Sherlock!” He continues, forgetting his propriety in his emotional bursting. Never before has he used the man's name to his face.

Gripping the bars (disappointingly strong bars at that) he cries the man's name until Sherlock Holmes rises up. Without pause he rolls out of bed and stands to stare wide-eyed at his very alive, and nearly naked, first mate. Sherlock is a little worn and pale from being stuck inside, his expressions weakened by disuse, yet not terribly undone – not tortured at least. “John?” He steps slowly, a bit dazed – he has woken from a dream only to find reality far sweeter.

John stands up on the balls of his feet, breaking into a smile for the sight of those midnight curls. “Captain Holmes..” 

The other man reeks a bit after being stuck in the same clothes for so long. That may also be due to the rarely cleaned chamber pot in the corner, but even those odorous reminders of their imprisonment cannot blot out pure joy.  
  
Though something can ruin it for Sherlock, and that is the sight of a thick bruise peeking out from under the blanket. He reaches between the bars and moves blanket aside to bare John's shoulder to a gaze that quickly cranks up to scathingly critical. “John, you're not alright.”

“I'm fine knowing you're safe. That helps.” John insists while trying to keep back some of his feeling. He never realized how much his wild-minded Captain meant to him until Jim ripped them apart, and now he does not know how to handle this overwhelming emotionality. Yet he cannot help but reach through the bars and pull Holmes to him in a hug. John cannot remember ever hugging his Captain before, but he will never forget it, even with the firm press of metal between them dampening the experience.


	10. Choosing Sides

Most of their tight embrace is yielded from over John's side of the bars. With his Captain before him all pretense of status and hierarchy are forgotten in that splintering moment, because both men are alive.

They are alive against the odds. John has not had anything to be legitimately happy over in quite some time, and this is absolute euphoria. He clutches the back of the other man's heavy collar for some time, not minding the greasy feel of his dark curls or the scent of decay that runs rampant in the lowest dredges of the boat.

Even Captain Holmes' slips his thin arms between the bars to lightly pat at John's back, warming his first mate from within. Their embrace is brief though, for his cheeks and belly may be hallow, but Sherlock's mind has not ceased to function.

Their hold is broken by his words cutting through the air like a shark's fin through water. “How are you moving freely?”

Of course, Sherlock had also considered the clear nudity under that blanket John clutched at, but discerning why his first mate wandered in unfriendly territory without a chaperon seemed more pertinent to their survival.

John sighs and much as he dislikes the cliché, he sums it up with the intent to be vague. “It's a long story.”  
  
Sherlock's voice is a touch acrid with the honesty, as coarse as the dark hair on his face, “I don't appear to be heading anywhere.”

Knowing Sherlock is too intelligent not to put the pieces together himself, and disliking the idea of admitting out loud what had become of him, John says nothing in response. He lets the question linger and sour the air between them for a time.

Sherlock takes up the conversation once done with the damp air's silence. “I have given it a great deal of thought, John, and if I can find a way out of this cell on the day we come into port we can escape..” The man has indeed had plenty of time to think, to take in all the details he can remember of the ship, and has created a skeletal plan with boundless secondary options.

Although there are plenty of tells in John's body, especially from the bruising that remains, it is in his eyes that Sherlock sees the truth of what happened. John barely looks at him now that the initial explosion of reuniting has passed.

The pirate Captain sighs but asks what he must, “Can you steal the key? The Captain is likely to keep it.”

“I think so..” John says quietly, sitting down with his back against the wall so that he rests sideways beside the bars of Sherlock's cell.

After that they discuss a little about the layout of the ship. John answers Sherlock's questions usefully, but with a mechanical touch about him.

Still, with his Captain's mere presence and a little of Sherlock's atypical thoughts, John finds himself in the highest spirits he has been since setting foot onboard. The bars between them do not hamper the passage of their words or the soaring in his heart.

* * *

 

 

He stays at the cell until morning, sitting side by side with Sherlock. They talk of their plans for escape in muted voices. With greater strength they talk of their lost crewmates and shared past. In a few moments they grasp at happier times, but mostly the reality is too dark for such. Sometimes they do not even talk at all, but sit there feeling safe in the other's presence.  
  
John finds himself thinking in a way he has been unable to for some time. Jim's presence haunts him in the Captain's quarters, even when Captain Moriarty himself is not there. John's mind cannot wander freely where he finds no comfort. Yet now, with Sherlock, it does and John can ponder upon many things – like why Jim keeps him around but rarely touches him, or why Jim wants him there in his private quarters.. or why Jim wants a pirate at all.  
  
The sandy haired man only leaves when forced to – when some naval officers remove him, dragging him back to Captain Moriarty. The man only fights against it while there in Sherlock's view, then he acquiesces with a slight slump.

The duo drop him to his knees before Moriarty who crooks his finger to tell John to follow him. Instead of going back into the man's private chamber they head up onto the quarterdeck. A soft whipping wind rang over the ocean around them.

“Had fun?” Murmurs Captain Jim Moriarty, sounding bemused – he must know where John was that morning. At no response a small smile appears on his face, and he turns to watch John momentarily fight to keep the blanket around his body.

John forms an iron grip around the edges of the sheet that come together in his fist. “Would you put me in the cell too?” He sways slightly with the motion of the boat.

“That would ruin our fun.” Remarks Jim offhandedly, turning his body all the way around instead of just glancing back at John. He wears his full uniform with everything up to snuff, even his boot buckles are polished. The teasing voice returns, “Besides, is that what you really want?”

Though he tries to appear assured, John cannot help but hold a quiet edge to his voice. “Yes. I may be a criminal, but I don't deserve what you're doing.”  
  
Jim exhales through his nose, sounding mildly annoyed with John. His smile tips out of existence. “Is this about him?”

John knows exactly what 'him' Moriarty thinks it is, and he is not half right – seeing Sherlock Holmes and feeling safe make him want that. The dank, dirty cell is a pittance to pay to sit beside him.

Yet all Jim can think of his own the warm, cozy quarters and the good food he has treated John to, finding his and Sherlock's sentimentality puerile and irritating. “You'll stay where I put you.”

“Then I'll make you want to put me there.” John mutters as declaratively as he can, bringing his sheet-clutching fist closer to his chest. He does not even stop to think while his other hand reaches out and promptly socks Jim's jaw. The slight cracking noise from the force of his blow impresses them both.  
  
Immediately upon seeing their leader struck the nearest soldiers leap on John and subdue him before he can accomplish harm, but that is all he wanted. The point would be enough.  
  
Jim glares at John and points in the direction of his personal cabin. The men obediently begin to haul John back down into the room he loathed so deeply while Jim stands under the high sun massaging his jaw.


	11. Mixed Directives

“Aren't you sick of following his orders?” John shouts in an irrational emotional ejaculation at the men who pull him under the shade of a finely crafted ceiling. He snaps at them, as his nearest outlets, for John is angry at the world, at the Captain, and the men who carry out his orders.  
  
Those men say nothing in response. It grates on John more than the flooring does as his blanket is dragged off his body from his obstinate refusal to walk on his own.

“Answer, on your honor!” John charges them in a surprisingly commanding tone, one that rings true to his old days calling Captain Holmes' orders to their pirate crew.

“He may have some... odd quirks, but Captain Moriarty is appointed by Our Majesty. Surely you can understand that.” John did know something about duty but he never let it blind him, or at least, he thought not. The officer continued when John appeared reticent and looked at least willing to hear his point of view. “And he is an excellent Captain.”  
  
That rose up John's brows in doubt. He saw a fearful presence, saw the cruelty in Jim, which seems so unlike a proper Captain's traits ought be in John's opinion.  
  
The other guard looked to his fellow peculiarly, but the speaker shrugged and continued, “We don't lose many men, we don't go hungry, or without spoils.” He nods toward John, “So why stick our nose in his private affairs?” He steps back towards the door, and nods to John, “Please stay.”

Pursing his lips John does as he is bid with irritation setting heavily over him, staying there while the two officers close the door behind them. He is left alone in Jim's chambers for another few minutes, just enough time to gather up his blanket and swap it for a lighter sheet as the afternoon seems to be bringing heat with it.

The pirate's doe-colored eyes take in a chest where Jim gets his shirts from, but John has been hit for trying to take clothes once before. Still, he is sick enough of wearing sheets and looking like some ancient Roman. He carefully rummages through the trunk, trying to cause little to no upset of Captain Moriarty's garments.

Then, in strolls the naval Captain, his eyes curious yet bearing a hint of anger that John is familiar with but cannot pinpoint. He roots himself in place while Jim comes to him. They stare at each other with a strange fascination on Jim's face before he backhands John, leaving a red swell forming on his face.

“You ought know better,” Chides Jim sharply like a governess finding their charge up to no good. He watches John cringe and look away, but the pirate does not drop the shirt in his hand. Jim wails on him a second time with an open palm, the slap stinging the both of them.

Still, John hangs on to the shirt.  
  
“Why are you so intent on gaining my animosity?” Snipes Jim irately, pursing his lips together in a plush expression. His body slants back, making his height the best it can appear like a predatory beast.

“Me?” John indignantly cries without pause. Recalling Sherlock trapped down below, while he is kept up here with Jim, drives anger so deep within him that it further frees his tongue. “You're the one who should be in an asylum!” He throws the shirt down between them, not caring about holding the sheet on, and bellows. “You treat me like some damn animal performing for your amusement, when I'm a man, same as you!”  
  
“I would treat you better if you behaved!” Cries out Jim like his words are some backlash. His voice rises to match John's volume and projection, even if neither is needed with their physical proximity. “I want to treat you well!”

The shocked look widens John's features, stretching his eyes and lips to the edges of his face. John cannot comprehend any truth in that, yet Moriarty says it as if it were gospel.

The naval Captain narrows his eyes as he realizes his words are having an effect on John, and especially on his anger. He nods pointedly, though he walks away because this feels a bit too much at once. The shirt that seemed so important a moment ago is forgotten on the floor as Jim sits down to eat at his well laden table.  
  
“Join me, John.” He commands curtly without turning around, wanting to move on from the confusing admission that seems to have paralyzed John. “Come.” Jim orders when his words are not heeded.

“I can't.” John mutters quietly, slowly bending over and picking up the billowy shirt. Hoping to gain some normalcy he begins yanking it on over his head. As it is long enough to drape just at his upper thighs he is barely covered, but it makes all the difference after going so long without clothes. They are a strangely normal constriction he has missed.  
  
“This is about him..” Growls out Captain Moriarty, voice taking his curt tone to new lows as the nasty topic resurfaces.

“He's starving down there!” John spits the words out despondently, unwilling to considering the lavish salted pork resting on Jim's table while Captain Holmes is below in some hovel.

“I told you to come!” Jim snaps, standing and moving to John. Before the man can scramble across the room Captain Moriarty is raising a hand to him again.

“He's my Captain!” John shouts while expecting the strike to come, but it does not. Instead he opens eyes that he did not notice closing and sees the staggering look of discontent on Jim's face. Uncertainty, yet a mix of some positivity that John cannot place.

Slowly Jim lowers his hand and gestures to the table, not wanting to voice such, but wanting John to cooperate after having to force him all the rest of their time together. “I shall send down something more substantial to him, if you would eat.”  
  
With a hefty pull on his heart and a stomach full of foreboding, John slowly moves to sit across from Jim's former seat. He nods awkwardly to the man sinking into his own high backed chair. “Can I accompany it? To make sure.” John tries not to sound so doubtful when he is getting the best promise he has had so far.  
  
“Smart man.” Jim nods slightly, gesturing for John to begin eating. With the accord struck he does without any additional fuss, and Jim joins him.  
  
For a few minutes only a few noises of food against plates is heard. Their chewing so soft they do not hear each other, but each man's own sound is painfully loud in their ears. The one who breaks the silence is Captain Moriarty, sounding annoyed and intolerantly demanding, “Do you not realize your position?” Their prior conversation had festered in their silence.

“My position?” John questions the irascible figure with more than a few signs of being stunned.

Jim stops eating and lowers his hand, staring with eyes harsh not from loathing but from his own emotion. He sighs. “I enjoy your company, John. I indulge you for it.”

“You.. indulge me?” Trying to piece together this complexity is like picking up shattered glass and putting it together, and getting a thousand shards in his hands in the process;The man who has been terrorizing him believes himself to be yielding to John's whim - the man who held him down and tore into his flesh? His mind feels too small to handle this gargantuan task.  
  
“I do.” Jim sounds downright diplomatic, tipping his head in the other man's direction. “You're still here, John.” As they nibble away with this more gentle bandying of words his voice becomes more collected. “Here, of all places.” He makes a vague gesture to the room around them. “While your superior is there.” Then his finger dives and points clearly below.

“Because you play ridiculous mind games.” John snaps at him, unable to help himself lash out when that is what he normally does to the other man.

“That not withstanding,” Moriarty admits to such because that is indeed his nature, as he well knows. “I would have grown bored of just a game.” The well dressed man sounds much calmer now. “I made my point early.” Jim answers him with clipped precision. Sure, this had begun as a game to show Sherlock just how much better he was, but during that time he kept enjoying having John around. He wanted the man in his room, waiting for him at the end of every day.

“Your point?” John asks gently, not being soft out of respect or any congenial reason, purely so bowled over by it all that Jim was wearing down his anger, an emotion that needs the heaviest of fuel.

“That I can beat your Captain, and I have." That smug air is less poignant, for now it has become a matter of fact to Moriarty. "Now I'd rather use you in better ways.” Jim cannot say he likes the way this conversation is going, but given that this is the most he has willingly gotten out of John he goes along with it.

The savory flavors sparking his tongue suddenly lose their luster as John parrots him, “Use me?”

“Yes, John.” Jim carries a militant precision with his words. He lifts a glass of red wine to his lips, eying the other man with a degree of confidence. “You've become a fixture in my quarters.”

John feels foolish having to ask but the entire situation is so oblique, and Moriarty's meaning is rarely clear to the pirate. “What does that mean?” He tries to sit back in the chair like he belongs there, half dressed in only a shirt that feels like a great deal at the moment. In spite of his confusion John has decorum in that moment.

“That I keep you here because I want to, now shut up and eat.” Jim scowls at him and John obeys him without any delay, too astonished and bewildered to do much else, especially not when Captain Holmes benefits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos make my day, please leave some! (=


	12. Sailing In Irons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use a lot of sailing jargon for this fic, but one thing worth pointing out is the term; In Irons. In the chronological context of this fiction's time period it means physical irons aka shackles - 'clapped in irons' as in awaiting execution. In nautical terms In Irons means trying to sail directly into the wind, which is impossible, and only makes your sail flap about uselessly while your ship stalls. Both meanings apply to poor John this chapter.. Some nice nautical symbolism for you!

To John's surprise he did end up accompanying a lesser officer below and sat there as Captain Holmes ate. The voracious appetite of the man he knew to go days without food signaled how utterly vital it was that he get fed when he did.  
  
So when John is led back to Captain Moriarty's quarters he does feel awkwardly grateful..

The strangeness of his situation's abrupt alteration is something he cannot shake - As if the world has turned everything upside down, making day become night and sky turn to ground. Of all things, John feels grateful to Captain Moriarty!

Honestly grateful that he did not starve a 'pirate rogue' when many a naval man might do so. Flying under a skull and crossbones is immediate condemnation – as their crew mates found out. A farce of a trial, a mockery of the word more like, and no chance of escape or pardon. To hit land would mean death, so, many men would not have bothered wasting precious supplies on a dead man walking, let alone a pirate.  
  
Dread that had sunk his frame and haunted his waking hours now gives way to the burden of awe from Captain Moriarty's abnormal behavior. John tries to fathom why he would keep his word, and begins to wonder whether the man has a code of honor. He pictures Jim's honor as a twisted, gnarled thing, but if he understands it maybe he can use it.

At least, John hopes so. He is desperate for a weapon, and since the physical ones seem useless, perhaps a mental one will do the trick. Anything to make his time on board more bearable for the days only drag on more as John continues to do nothing.

* * *

  
That night when he found himself 'indulged' (he was still wondering about that earlier little comment as if it were a train on a circular track in his head) by Captain Moriarty's presence, John decided to ask a question. He has noticed that actions tend to irritate the man more than words, but sometimes if his mouth is engaged Captain Moriarty is too interested in banter to hit him.

“Earlier, what you said.. I still don't understand my 'position.'” John begins as if walking through a yard of sleeping guard dogs. He is terrified of setting the Captain off into a violent storm of fists, but John cannot sit idly in that same room any longer. He needs something to engage in, even if it is only conversation.

“Your position is quite a good one – you are the only person, aside from your dear Captain Holmes, that resides on my ship without lifting his own weight.” It went without saying that he had the better bargain to be in Jim's own private quarters, at least so the naval Captain thought.  
  
“We're also the only two sailing towards our deaths.” John points out softly, unable to begrudge the truth whether Jim spokes congenially to him or not. He cannot escape reality, even if the other man has a more fanciful mindset.

“Oh come, let's not be morbid.” Jim groans as if John were making a mountain out of a molehill, not talking about his own life and death.

“It's true!” He cannot help the soft bitter touch his voice takes as his own morality is before him, with a timetable in hand. Somewhere within all this madness with Captain Moriarty he has stopped being polite minded, as was his way before, and takes to honesty like a hedonist does their first party.

“Not at all.” Jim replies nonchalantly. Though he can be quite collected at times this calm does strike at John's composure. Captain Moriarty beckons to him and though his expression is begrudging he drags his feet over to the other man.

“How isn't it?” John's prior bitter tone has only festered as gangrene does on many a sailor at sea. This man has done deplorable things to him, and never has John felt so low. When faced with his own destruction, even accepting the pirate stigmata, he would have accepted it if granted a noble end, but he has felt dragged on his knees toward his doom.  
  
“Be a dear and use your brain, or what is it there for?” Jim inquires with a droll stare set on John, making him feel only a few centimeters small (something Jim is very good at).

Instead John moves away from him and sits at the table, across from Jim's present, and usual, position. The bold move is one that stamps on class, as John has not been invited to sit by Jim, but given how discouraged his spirit is, and how well this is going already, John is willing to take a risk.

His embittered eyes are a mix of hazel and chestnut coalescing. They rivet on Jim in a way that is not challenging, but his gaze has staunched his prior humbler ways.

Jim stares back at him and feels his muscles coiling up like yard lines. Yet he feels strangely desirous of John at the same time. He licks his lower lip, eyes turning the barest hint coquettish while his tongue gained greater charm and edge, “You have a warrior's spirit and the eyes of a nobleman.”

The pirate, or at this point he will call himself a captive, stares confusedly at the great bandier of opposites. As Jim thinks how much like John's eyes are like the feeling one gets sailing through an isthmus, John wonders what the bloody hell has happened. That sounds like a compliment, and not the first.  
  
Damn Jim for being able to dislodge him from his steeled bearings. The hot and cold man suddenly got all the warmer with him, and John cannot approach this strangeness. He reverts to his nature self, not thinking as he replies, “I'm sorry, what?”

“I don't like repeating myself.” Jim murmurs with a hint of singsong in his voice, as if toying with John and, likely, he is. Though his eyes scream with honesty and a demur attitude the likes of which John has never seen in this cruel man before.  
  
John looks dumbfound as the information sticks in his mind, and then a little longer as he makes sure it truly is as it appears in his head. He could not help that tentative turn to his voice, “You find me favorable?”

Jim just starts to smile like a person walking out to his garden after weeks of effortful seeding to find the first bloom. It would be an attractive look if not for the memories that start to make John's head thump – the look he is getting now he has seen before, a little more twisted and warped, with his hair chaotic and...  
  
John looks away from Jim as memories fight to take a firm grip of him, blotting out everything before his eyes. His heart is slamming like a prisoner newly condemned, and then John realizes that it scares him to see Captain Moriarty happy. Even if the reason is good... Well, at least not a dangerously threatening reason. John will not call it 'good' that he finds the Captain truly attracted to him with interests that his boyhood priest would call copula carnalis.  
  
Instead John swallows his astonished mixed emotions, remembering why he began this conversation. “If that's true.. well, try and treat me better?” He looks back at Jim at last, trying to give his gaze a sharp edge and purposeful steadiness.

Captain Moriarty is the one whose lips drag down and one brow arches up toward the ceiling in disbelief. “What is wrong with how you are treated now?”  
  
Aghast that the man could suggest such a thing John's blood boils and he stands with a killer's glare to his stony features. “How can you ask _that_?”  
  
“I may have been a bit rough with you at first but you did give me a fight.” Jim chides John with a forgiving reproach. “We have a far better rapport now, don't you think?”  
  
“What is WRONG with you?” John shouts with an outstretch of his arms, as if movement will show Jim the depth of his depraved mind. Mouth agape, unable to believe that a man with a mind that seems full of intellectual thoughts – and the skill to be an adept, albeit cruel, Captain – can be so utterly oblivious to his own rash nature.

“Oh shut up, John, and get into bed.” Jim snaps, setting his palms on the table and rising to exert that single inch of height difference he has over John. It has been an interesting conversation but if John is getting a mite too mouthy now he would rather cut to the chase.

“That – that is why we don't have any rapport.. I'm your captive, and you do.. horrible things to me.” The final words slightly choked out, but he forces them so that perhaps his grief will bleed through his own voice and into Jim. He doubts the arrogant bastard will realize, but clings to every shred of hope.

Sounding mildly annoyed, instead of the empathetic or regretful response John hoped for, Jim continues to tut him as he had earlier, only now he sounds on the cusp of his anger. “If you would of your own volition we would not have these little conversations.”

“Maybe if I were better disposed to you I could, but not if you force me before I know who you are.” John takes a page out of the book women have read to him as a young scamp wallowing in the pubs along the seaside, of course he modifies the forcing aspect to suit his purposes now.  
  
His words are rational and his reasoning sound - quite an accomplishment, especially given how frightened he has turned within. Jim shrugs and walks to undress, body loosening that tense frame as he went. It seems that the silent officer planned to accept John's words, for they promised to yield sweetly in future.  
  
Seconds later John's face turns ashen as he realizes what he has just set himself up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Not Beta’d - If you’d like to be my new beta (I could use a second to stop overworking my BFF!) please leave a note in my Ask box. Must have AIM and be over 18, that’s all I ask! Thanks so much!


	13. Articles of Engagement

_The most important thing is to make it last until we reach land._ John repeats that fact to himself after he has realized exactly what he is getting into.

John almost believes he can handle the acrobatics act of engaging the naval leader in conversation long enough to reach land. The very next morning after insisting on wearing a shirt John actually gets dressed at the start of the day. He puts on some of Jim's less fine things. Of course nothing from a uniform. A pair of light breeches and a billowy front-tie shirt, along with minimal underthings, is all he comes up with, but after his lengthy garment dearth it feels as good as slipping into his mother's arms again.

That same morning he sits at the Captain's table and does his best to maintain a facade of propriety and mild interest. Jim Moriarty starts chronologically, at the beginning of his life, with his date of birth and parents names, locations. The enigmatic man has become an open book overnight, and John has to feign interest.

“... I have one younger brother, a Colonel who is now dockmaster in Merseyside. Short minded man.” Jim coolly lays out the actors in this drama along with the various settings. He sounds a bit indifferent to his own kin.

“Did you get on well as children?” John takes the liberties of asking questions.

He ought be a bit more subservient to Jim's station, but after acting as prisoner he cannot find it in him to approach Jim as a field-hand does a Baron. Instead he sticks out his neck with his hope of slowing their talks long enough, and to a mix of relief and chagrin, he finds Jim answering them all without qualm.

“Decently in the nursery.” Jim explains, having already discussed his well to do parents of far nobler birth than John. “We grew apart with age. Such is the normal way.” Jim noshes for a moment before setting his fork down. “As I am the elder he had his own resentments to deal with.”

“Were you a commanding youth?” John normally found amicability a simple matter, even among pirates, who were all in it for the riches. With Captain Moriarty he finds himself acting more than he is living.

“I would say I found ways to maintain attention..” Replies the slender man in an amused tone of voice that suggests he must have been a handful. John imagines him as insistently taking his younger sibling's sweets.

“That's enough for now, I must be needed. They will not whip themselves into shape.” Remarks Jim while throwing his napkin down. He smiles with unsettling interest at John and moves to put on his jacket.

“Can I leave this room?” John asks quietly while raising and moving to his side. It still feels premature to be wandering around, but he cannot help his hoping to see Captain Holmes again.

“I grant you that already.” Captain Moriarty remarks with ease, turning to stare at his captive while mild interest though he knew he ought go.

John nods, unable to force himself to say the words 'thank you,' even if he means them. For he remembers being dragged from the side of Sherlock Holmes' cell by Moriarty's men. The naval Captain is too changeable for him to truly believe such words come without extraneous clauses to them.

Moriarty walks out of his quarters, heading out onto the deck. Not wanting to brush into him while on his way to Captain Holmes' cell, which he knows will sit poorly with Moriarty, John waits several minutes before he leaves.

He takes that opportunity alone to get hold of some charts. John will risk sneaking looks at them when Captain Moriarty is out of his quarters, so that he might know how far land is – now that everything hinges on it.

Still far out if he is reading them right. John is not entirely adept, having been first mate instead of leading navigation, but he understood more than enough. At this rate he will make it through Jim's life story in time, and then he will be forced to act.

* * *

 

  
Walking to his Captain's cell attired, with some bread and meat taken from his breakfast hidden for his leader, John approaches with a much better gait then his first appearance. Yet without any definitive besmirchment to be seen he still felt awkward when Captain Holmes looked him over for injuries upon arrival.

“I brought you something.” John instead diverts his attention by passing food the iron bars. He feels a sense of accomplishment blaze within him at the hungry man taking them.

John sits down against the wall, and Sherlock does likewise so that they can sit side by side with the bars dividing them and talk. “Still three weeks out, at least.” John murmurs as Sherlock eats. He tries not to sound so disheartened by the necessary time.

“I believe we'll be alright.” Sherlock replies with a small confidence as he has given the matter most of his attention. “The most difficult part will be leaving it to chance that no one will come up while we lower a whaleboat over the side.” Their words are always said in the most hushed whispers when the plan is spoken of. “I've been thinking of that – can you find any tar they won't miss?”

“I don't know..” John cannot remember where the barrels are kept, but any ship in this day and age will have such on board to keep the wood from rotting. He remains uncertain, “I'll look, but I wouldn't want to get caught gathering supplies.”

“Could you not make some excuse for helping Captain Moriarty with them?” Captain Holmes inquires while looking through to his first mate.

“He's what concerns me. I would not want him to doubt me right now.” John replies quietly, not wanting to explain the problem he is stuck in the midst of. The less Captain Holmes knows, the better, and right now John already feels like Sherlock has a full enough picture. “Not unless it's necessary?”

“I suppose.” Agrees his Captain even if his understanding is vague, surprisingly not pushing John ahead with his idea as he would have if he was still in charge. Instead, he, too, is at the mercy of Captain Moriarty, and after missing sunlight for weeks his spirit begins to wane.


	14. Shifting Wind Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter not beta'd because I'm a rebel and Snap was idle.

Captain Moriarty is in his room more than ever.. He takes long breakfasts and comes in before the sunset. It is immediately clear to John that the other man always levels the fullness of his attention onto John, as he spends all his free time with him and stares with such intensity as a man might in the midst of a great storm.

All this so that John might hear his life story and know the 'true' James Moriarty. John can hear the bias that is brought into it by its speaker. For days they go on in a routine, with Jim leading a conversation that is more of a monologue than any dialogue John has ever been involved in. And, for days John is left alone beside Captain Moriarty as they share the same bed for heat but never really touch.  
  
Until one morning John awakens and feels himself curled around a nice source of warmth. The smell of cloves lingers in his nostrils, which is odd – the upper echelon uses them to ward off unpleasant smells, not his class of person. The pirate takes an inhale and finds his senses correct – cloves.  
  
John's eyes open and he is greeted with a field of short dark hair and tanned skin. John has snuggled right up against Moriarty's back in the night – with him pressed there and one leg thrown over Jim's waist, there is no mistaking that.  
  
Blushing at himself, John slowly lifts his leg and removes it off the still sleeping man. He only backs up a little since he does not want to jostle the bed. He cannot believe he would be so desperate as to move against the other man, no matter how cold the ocean nights may be.

* * *

  
They sit across from each other at the table with what is clearly the end of the good food. Soon they will be dipping out of high quality Captain's meals and into crew grub, which meant the crew could hardly be faring well. For that reason John made a mental note to go down with some of his food for Captain Holmes.  
  
“I believe.. I was into my career.” Says Jim with a meandering voice, pondering on where he has last left off since yesterday.

“You were.” John replies politely, having come to a simple standoff with himself; He lets Captain Moriarty roll ahead, putting up as many blockades as he can without making his intentions obvious, and he does not stick his neck out too far. They are closer to land and he needs only catch sight of it in order to leap into action. Until then he must keep up the act.  
  
“I had explained my beginnings brought about by my father, becoming a Lieutenant young.” Jim summarized the old business with a succinct tongue that most would fail to achieve if they were sharing their own history. He pushes his breakfast plate aside, disinterested in it.  
  
“I became a Commander of a fifth rate vessel and improved through steady hands at the wheel and a quick tongue for my men, but.. She was a fine ship. Thirty-two guns, and every one of them polished before sun up. Only problem was fighting in bad weather, she could never take it.” For a moment he has turned the most reminiscent that John has seen him. Familial mentions did little, but his first acting position as Captain had brought up clearly fond memories.  
  
“Bad weather is the best time for an attack for that reason – most ships can't run out the guns.” John remarks with a knowledgeable perspective, yet his is entirely the other end of the looking glass.  
  
“If you had caught her on a fine day she would be the scourge of you.” Jim smirked across the table and John felt he might have been seeing a truer side to the normally ostentatious man with theatrical antics.  
  
“After battle I was promoted to Captain, and I left her behind. Last I heard of that ship she had sailed into a storm and never returned.” His eyes widened in what was meant to be a dubious look but John found it only brought a sense of youth to his face. Truly, once he stopped being a psychotic juggernaut he became a tolerable fellow.  
  
“The rest will come later.” Jim declares, which is his way of tabling the conversation for a later date. Most likely evening, when the day's work is done.

John nods slightly and fiddles the the sleeve of his shirt while Captain Moriarty leaves his quarters. He waits a long time, just sitting at the table, including the wait for crew to come in and clear the table and tidy the room. Once they are all through, and none have entered for a good half an hour, he goes to Captain Moriarty's desk and checks the charts once again. The brown eyed man taking his time to get it right. Just days now if all was as it seemed and the weather held.

* * *

  
Now John moves through the decks like a ghost. The crew has just begun to ignore him. They have lost interest in glaring, sneering, or poking fun at him between themselves in whispers. Since he is no longer a social despondent, but still a pariah and not one of them, John is almost never spoke to, or about, unless by Captain Moriarty.  
  
He visits Captain Holmes with great ease, passing food and kind words. The stagnant air below decks only worsens as the journey goes on, but Holmes seems to bear up. He does not go stir crazy, as John has seen many of their own captives go in the past, but instead remains as dignified as a man can in such a hovel.  
  
“What about after we get out of here?” John asks as they sit together with the cell bars between them that afternoon. He watches dust move slowly, almost as if traveling through the air as he watches a shaft of sunlight from a porthole not far from him on the other side of the wall.  
  
“A new ship and a new crew.” Sherlock declares as if it is obvious. He may be tired and more than a touch haggard in this worn down cell, but he remains intolerant of silly questions. Things would return to as normal as the two of them could make it, as far as Sherlock was concerned.  
  
The idea of engaging in piracy again had been a nice dream that John had held in his heart, but now to finally hear it out loud, said by someone else, he finds himself frowning instead of agreeing. “What if we're caught again?”

“A faster ship.” Sherlock replies with stubborn resilience, though his voice lacks all of its usual bitter bite.  
  
“Captain Holmes, maybe we ought try a more legitimate enterprise?” He turns his head, looking with imploring eyes but with the set features of a loyalist who will follow where he is told.  
  
A soft chuckle comes from the trapped taller man, who shakes his head slightly. With a soft stoicism about him he replies, “I can think of nothing to entertain mind and purse alike than this which gives us freedom.”  
  
 _At what cost?_ John wanted to ask, but he kept it to himself. That comment had turned on a sort of cheer within his Captain. He silenced his tongue, unwilling to risk ruining that for John could see it warming Captain Sherlock Holmes from the inside out. John knew him after their years at sea together - the man needed wind at his back and something ahead of him to set his keen sights on.  
  
Sherlock Holmes may need to march to the beat of his own drummer, but John has understood being part of a group. The camaraderie is something he has grown to miss with their crew ripped away from them for all these months. He would not mind considering a more fair-minded way to earn a living if he could find it – and the idea of running into Jim again or those like him has become a nightmarishly real thing.  
  
So even though he does not admit it to Captain Holmes, John knows that this has taught him one thing if nothing else – something has to change.


	15. A Quagmire Of Views

A few days later Jim sits with John at his table within the Captain's quarters. The pirate has stared at the hard woodgrain so often its pattern feels memorized every time he looks down at it. John has not only grown used to the room but finally acclimated, however begrudgingly, to it.

Although sometimes he looked upon the bed or the wall and his blood grew frigid, but he became capable of ignoring that in the day to day. With a goal before him, and renewed vigor from frequent contact with Captain Holmes, John has managed to relax a touch while he keeps up this little facade.  
  
John continues letting Jim expel his life story with occasional inquiries into details. He watches himself, trying not to pry but only to flesh out some detail that they might take some time. With each waning hour of their discussions Jim gets closer to his present – and John fears they will finish before hitting land, ruining all chance he has at his own future.  
  
That night the largest and also most notable topic has been Jim parents falling out maritally and its effect on their children, mostly Jim who required his father's governmental contacts as the time (as he had not yet fully made a name for himself). Yet the sordid tale of disillusioned romance is told so succinctly and without opinion in both verbiage and tone that John finds it sad how little Jim feels from something that most people would be affected by. He knows he ought not pity the nefarious man, yet he does.  
  
“What is it, John?” Inquires Captain Moriarty, whose gaze is nearly as sharp as Captain Holmes, and better at spotting social twitches. The ones from the pirate are slight as he tries keeping things close to the vest.

Instead of being honest – and saying it was Jim's private life that drew a discontented look to John's face – he goes for a route that will be easier for the Captain to hear. He takes the first thought off the top of his head and shakes it out instead of using the truth. “I find it strange to hear so much from you, and you ask nothing of me.”  
  
“Well you said you wanted to know _me_.” His look is pointed, for the facts at hand make it so to Jim's eyes. “You never offered to go the other way 'round.” Jim raises a brow curiously at the other man, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the table.  
  
John realizes that the other man now waits expectantly. The captive pirate found himself awkwardly embarrassed by the abrupt turn of attention. Jim's stare so imposing all of a sudden that it stiffens the other man.  
  
After a hesitation John replies cautiously, “If you desire so?”  
  
Jim nods to him, allowing the continuation with intrigue harrowing his features. The pirate's sudden point was not only valid in his eyes but an interesting one.  
  
All John Watson saw was a new chance to expand their talks. Another way to extend the grains in the hourglass. Nothing about getting close to Jim.

But as he began with his birth and dug into the intimate private reaches of his life, he found it did start to affect him. As he told Jim of his parents first squabbling before him he could have sworn he saw empathy in the back of the aristocratic man's amber gaze. John knew when Jim's brow went up at hearing of his sister, Harriet, that he thought she was a saucy sort of lass.  
  
Yet the closer he came to delving into the more torrential areas of his life the less he wanted to share. Seeing Jim reacting and making little comments that proved he was not only listening but absorbing the information began to distress John..

“That is enough to start with, don't you think?” John says lightly as they approach adolescence. He tries to make it out to be less than it really is. “Why don't you continue?”  
  
“Well, as you have shared quite a bit..” The playful look in Jim's eyes sends a somersault to John's insides. Sometimes Jim can rake his eyes over John and make him feel as exposed as he was when entirely nude.  
  
“My career then.” Resumes Jim. “I affirmed my leadership holding at the battle of Plassey as one of the reinforcements that came later.” He looks amused and adds, “I was under Admiral Watson, you know... there's a different Watson I'd rather be under now though.”

John's cheeks begin to turn a deep crimson. His insides twist and he cannot fathom if it is a pleasurable or distressing feeling. The man whose hair reminds the Captain of a sullied beach says, “Must you say such things?”  
  
“Do I embarrass you?” Jim retorts cattily, leaning back to survey the unseated pirate. “Is it because we are both men?” He inquires with a polite but suggestive raise of his brows.  
  
“That's something.. no.” John grows irritated that the Captain pushes ahead with his ignorance, not realizing that being captured and held down had been the torment. He huffs softly, “I suppose being stuck at sea so long I have seen this sort of thing before..”

Up goes that stately brow, and Jim merely snickers under his breath. “I practice it on land.” His words silence John completely – to admit to such preference is like a social dagger to the stomach, but then again, he is speaking to a pirate who nobody would believe... so John supposes Jim is taking no real risk after all.  
  
“You are a most attractive man, John.” Murmurs the Captain in a soft voice that is demur compared to his usual. He layers the enamored feelings into the conversation like a swabby polishing the deck.

A mite bewildered, and a great deal stuck on a response, John finally shook his head and admitted quietly, “Sometimes I wish I could understand you..” He sighs in sheepish resentment, “..you say that, but don't you see?”  
  
The droll stare that meets the quiet eyed man's concern clearly shows that he does not see the point to John's fears. “Are you still worried about having your little foot caught in my trap?”  
  
John swallows and knows the conversation will be like all others whenever he has brought up Jim's treatment of him – like hitting a coral reef and stalling out entirely. Though, reaching land is something that concerns him and he nods. It is easier to agree and forge ahead than it is to fight Jim in a battle of words.  
  
“You needn't worry.” Jim shakes his head. “Obviously since I did not kill you I intend to keep you.” At John's oblivious expression Jim repeats, “I intend to keep you.”

“How can you _keep_ me?” Asks John, who knows that despite being a pirate he has some minute freedoms, at least he thinks he does.  
  
“When we land I am not passing you off.” Jim replies evenly, finding it a simple matter. In fact he looks a little taken aback that John had not already figured this out, as if such went without saying.

“But, the crew..?” John begins to ask, not sure how Moriarty will also silence everyone else on board who knows what he is. The smug stare he gets in return holds the answer – Jim's men will not speak a word against him and the nefarious naval officer knows it.  
  
“And, Captain Holmes?” John asks slowly, biting the strange coagulation of emotion in his chest – not only to feel the noose slip off him but that some part of him is actually pleased Jim would prefer to retain him.

“What about him?” Jim asks with dismissive confusion, not seeing how one point linked to the other. “I'm letting them take him of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admiral C. Watson was in the Battle of Plassey, an important conquest for the East India Trading Company - Historically accurate eighteenth century sex joke. Huzzah!
> 
> Feedback appreciated! Comments, kudos, etc, are loved so much!!


	16. Turning Around

 “A hanging is so plebeian anyway.” Jim remarks as if speaking of a show in a theater instead of the rushed demise of one of, if not the, greatest man John shall ever know. The man is a fine figure in his full military dress with golden embossing and fringed epaulets, walking across the open quarterdeck to the stairs. The high collar hiding his sleek looking neck, and the shoulders of the jacket went just a smidgen too far, making it look as if he has not quite grown into it entirely.  
  
John's ability to roam around the ship in clothing not only makes his days feel more normal and easier to handle, but it also allows conversations to continue on outside the Captain's bedroom. Though usually John feels uncomfortable being overheard with the Captain, so he avoids it. He knows the way he speaks is outside his rank. It is unacceptable for a prisoner, but is a peculiar byproduct of their strange relationship; The Captain may have hit him for many things, but not once has he done so for John speaking out of turn (even on some occasions speaking his mind has saved him).

“But surely you could let him go?” John asks, because he must – Sherlock is not there to fight for his own life, and John would feel himself a lost, damned soul if he did not save the enigmatic raven haired man. Captain Holmes will be saved one way or another – and if Captain Moriarty would only allow it then John sees an easier ending in this for everyone.

“As loathe as I am for social structure..” Jim begins with the most subtle teasing in his voice that John could not tell whether he is imagining it or not. “... I am engaging in a royally sanctioned endeavor.”

They take to the stairs, wood creaking a little as they quick time their way to the larger deck, which is a clatter of activity by the crew. The tone of finality leaves Jim's voice as whimsy returns, “Such a death is ostentatious – you both deserve more fitting ends.”

Captain Moriarty sought out the ship's master to see how they fared on their course and John traipsed after him like a half-blind duckling. He could not help but thrust out his lip, disgruntled, yet he stayed quiet while Moriarty spoke with the ship's Master.

After he finishes and the Captain gets moving through the throng of activity again, John says with a soft huffed petulance, “Then how are you going to kill me?”

“Kill you?” Jim stops midstep, and is so abrupt that John nearly runs into his back. The Captain turns, and John comes around his side wearing an expression of ignorance. “Don't be obvious.” John furrows his brow deeper at that snide sounding remark.

“Really?” Captain Moriarty appears bemused by John's ignorance. It irks John to have his life chuckled at this way, yet he cannot help but be more interested in what the well attired man will say next. After fixing John with a comprehensive stare that bends his brows and fogs his eyes, Jim says slowly, as if a storyteller whispering a fairytale, “I don't think I want to now.”  
  
“Now?” John repeats, utterly confounded by Jim's choice of wording. So he did want to, but now he does not? Internally John's insides began to make sailor's knots.

“I was going to.” The fact that Jim concedes it without any hesitation is startlingly honest. John does not disbelieve him, but what he finds stranger is not feeling frightened. He is stiff with apprehension, and sick to his stomach over Sherlock, but his own survival instinct is quiet. John genuinely believes the word 'was' in that sentence.

John looks on without as much confusion, quietly regarding the man before him who seems like such a larger than life figure one moment, and then the realest person John knows the next.  
  
Jim eyes his set lips and the settling ease in his posture from John's back muscles unclenching as he relaxes an iota. He continues on under the bright sunlight, his voice going against the soft, constant vibrating of the wind in their ears, “To upset your Captain.. doesn't seem to matter now.”  
  
The heat he feels is not from the sun. A flush comes over his face, because only now does John precisely realize Jim's intentions – to keep him around as the closest thing to a wife. The time spent learning about Jim is not time to acquiesce, rather it is more like courtship. The thought strikes him so forcefully his insides quiver as if a wave has just knocked him about and thrown his internal balance off its axis.

Jim looks over and catches the slight reddening to John's face. The sandy haired man's white shirt and loose brown breeches (Jim's lowliest garments) were pulled by the wind, revealing patches of the pirate's neck, chest and ankles. He sighs contentedly and looks out across the sparkling curls of ocean all around them. The wind pushes against the waves, making the tops of some cresting torrents gleam like gems.

Finally John finds his voice, pulling himself out of his mind to turn toward the other man. For a split second his flabbergast state continues, as looking into a piercing gaze has slowed him. “But I don't like you!” John sputters out with a slight lifting of his open palm to gesture hopelessly.  
  
Jim turns toward him, lower lip dropping as if tugged in the middle. “Why ever not?”  
  
John's stomach somersaulted and he had to turn his eyes down and walk away, because he cannot stand looking at the aching disappointment in those great, lively eyes any longer.

“John..” Says Jim so softly that he almost thought it was someone else speaking to him – but nobody else would talk to him, let alone with such a kind tone. It forces his feet to stop trying to carry him off, and John pivots to look into bright yet supplicating eyes.

“And if I don't, what then?” John finds himself asking. A million other thoughts fly through his head – most are viable concerns that clash into one another before spinning out of control, but a minute fraction are intrigued- but the thought of what may befall him should he be less inclined towards Captain Moriarty's fanciful idea is what truly concerns him.

“I told you, John.” Captain Moriarty sounds like he has thread wire through his voice to keep its shape. “I intend to keep you, safe.” The curtness of his final word makes John bite his tongue, standing there in the soaring daylight while feeling stuck in the bottom of a shady pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the monstrous delay of over a week! I was finishing my Sherlock choose your own adventure fanfiction - [Deduce Your Own Adventure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/912159/chapters/1767707) and it needed some time/attention. My apologies!   
> Check it out though; It has Johnlock and Johniarty both, just no pirates. ;D


	17. Between A Reef & A Turtle Shell

 He still intends to set Captain Holmes free. Nothing has changed that.  
  
If anything the naval Captain's declaration on John's own safety only further steels his resolve to save Captain Holmes. As soon as a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's side, he found himself drawn from his spiraling emotions as his footing shifted. John's body lurched, then he turned from the sunshine of the deck into a mission to save Captain Holmes.  
  
That morning they discussed bits of John's childhood, and the way he protected his sister Harriet, before Jim relayed his fond memories of his top of the line ship just before the one they were on now. Dangerously near his end, but luckily John had a way to go with his own stories to hope for a few days. Then the Captain went to see to his duties, and John could breathe a sigh of relief.

With Moriarty out and about performing duties John speculated that he had at least an hour before the Captain would possibly return. After so many weeks stuck in the man's personal space he had learned Jim's routines beat by beat.

Knowing the weather and thus his time frame, John searches the cabin as swiftly and neatly as he can. Jim is a sharp eyed sort and he hardly wants to make the man suspicious so John tries his best to leave everything exactly as it is. Luckily being at Sherlock's elbow for so long has taught him a thing or two and he has become more perceptive.  
  
When John hits Jim's desk he spends the most time seeking in there, and believes he finds where the key is, but he is not sure – a desk drawer that is locked from the outside. No reason to keep anything else in there, nothing John can see. It must be the Captain's private store for things he cannot let his men get hold of, IE the key. John marks it mentally and takes off below to speak with Captain Holmes.

* * *

  
  
Below deck the air is stale, yet pungent with the stank of men gone weeks without bathing. Grim has built up, even with officers cleaning, and though they throw their garbage into the ocean dust and crumbs remain. Dirt filters through, carried on the air from distant shores, and it collects in the ship's niches, leaving a stank permeating with the slight salty breeze sneaking in from above.

Sherlock is the worst John has ever seen him – eating only just enough has made his already hollow frame paper-thin. He is a grim-covered creature now, more like a guttersnipe or some wandering waif than a Captain.

Large pools of blue stare at John, as gorgeous and ethereal as a flask of ocean water captured and held away from its magnificent brethren. They bear down on his heart, but he forces himself to yield a tiny upturn to his lips. The barest of positivity, but at least it is sincere.

John steps up to the bars of his former leader's cell, letting his browns take in Holmes' degradation. “How are you sir?”  
  
“Substantially below par, but functioning.” Holmes' voice is drained. He has sounded as he used to when they would hit a lull in the wind lasting for a week, but now he always sounds that way – unmotivated and dull. “I can ask for no more right now.” That normally low silken sound that draws John in now casts a pall.  
  
“I think I've found the key, Captain Holmes.” John's heart ached over the man he loved as a brother. To renew some of the man's spirits he jumps into the possibility. “Jim keeps it locked in his top drawer.”  
  
Sherlock takes in a deep breath, drawing himself up out of his slight slouch. His eyes sharpen as they meet John's. “John you needn't call me Captain anymore.”  
  
“Why sir?” John whispers aghast.  
  
“How can I be a Captain without a ship?” Soft yet curt voice rising out of that despondency but only to fall back again. Sherlock's eyes narrow as his pragmatic approach is set forth.  
  
John sighs and tries to lend him a most bright smile, but instead yields a much more true one with awkward, yet hopeful eyes. “You will always be a Captain to me.” He does believe the winds will shift on their fortunes, and carry them back to their old ways of life. If that is so, then John will gladly accept it.

* * *

 

Even though he can wander it never sits well with him. John may be able to move freely among the others but he is not accepted. Eyes wander over him when he passes, and conversations hush in his presence. They will never accept him and his peculiar dress it marks him out among their identical uniformed suits. Leaving Sherlock Holmes is never a settling experience, but neither is going – yet he always goes back. John will not wander the ship anymore, but he will go to his Captain.

Returning to Captain Moriarty is its own experience of course.. He would sometimes sit in an inactive corner of the deck, huddled on his own for warmth while the breeze whipped as they sailed along. Staring up at the sky if the sun had fallen, and looking to the horizon when it had not. Yet always he went back in to see the Captain for his evening meal.

That night as John returned waited as Moriarty worked at his desk, quite pleased to see a key in the lock of the draw he was concerned with. Then he sat down across from Jim at a meagerly laden table. John put something aside in his lap for Sherlock Holmes as he had begun to do regularly. That night Jim got into very little detail, most of it included the mundane days before taking hold of the pirate ship. Then they were caught up..  
  
“Instead of moving on to your turn..” Jim begins, which unnerves John who thinks their game might be over, “.. I think you should realize you know me now.” He licked his lips and cracked that snake-like neck. Eyes alight, and positively obsidian against the flickering light of a small fireplace. “I'd like to think it's time to take advantage of that.”

John's throat grew dry and he takes a steadying moment before replying. “I just do not know if I can be what you want me to be.”

“Whether you want to or not this is the way of the world.” Jim rose one arching brow and began to smirk as a satisfied gambler does. “I'm not protecting you for nothing, and giving you any time at all was a boon.”

“That you do not want to know me the same is disappointing.” John replies, feeling exorbitantly proud of his sudden turn of wit to think up such an idea, especially in his present concerned state. Jim Moriarty like a shark around him, sniffing the blood of one tiny cut.

“Indeed I do..” Captain Moriarty began while his smirk slid across his face with his exquisitely sculpted features. “Just not as you want to know me.” He wet his lips with faux coquettish nature befitting the stage of the Globe Theater. Jim's index finger stroking his laid down fork. “My kind of knowing is far more showing..”

John began to turn a faint ruddy color at the obvious lascivious turn of tongue by the naval officer that never seemed quite like an officer. Jim never conducted himself as he ought, unless to exercise his power. Other than that they had a strange equality unheard of by John, except for the way he sometimes was with Captain Holmes.

John lifted his fork and knife, busying himself with the tasks of supper to avoid looking or speaking to Jim. It only worked for a little while.

“I think you do like me, but you don't want to admit it.” Jim murmurs to him, as if forgiving him like some omniscient overseer. He runs a hand over his square-set jaw, taking it up that elongated forehead. “That's our society and hardly your fault.”  
  
John says nothing and prods at the mush on his plate.

“Oh, John..” Chuckles Moriarty, standing and walking over to John's chair. He leans down with open arms, wrapping them around John who stiffens at the sudden invasion of intimacy. The Captain picked him up with surprising strength, lifting John out of the chair, sending the food for Sherlock onto the floor but Jim ignores it with a roll of his eyes and takes John to the bed.

It sent John's nerves recoiling after what Jim has already said. John lies curled up on his side as soon as he is set down on the bed, so Jim has to jerk his chin aside with his fingers. “John open your eyes..” He insists, and yet John does not. He hears Jim sigh then feels a soft warmth across his lips. Soon he is tasting what he recognizes as the Captain's lips. Instead of pressing down, as they have been, it's warm and inviting. A sharp contrast to John's still coldness.

Jim murmurs and flicks his tongue against John's lower lip. When John does nothing even then he pulls back gently, “John, do you know nothing of me?” Jim's voice is so curious and sincere that John does open his eyes at last, letting the great wood hued stare rest on Jim. “I know you like me.”

“Liking does not mean this...” John licks his lower lip and swallows. “Can we not be friends? What if you found me an appointment as a grunt lad here?” He reaches to the believable things he can offer to pretend that he wants them. “I would prefer that over.. this.” John sighs and turns his head away. “I do not even know what this is.”

“My mistress.” Jim replies immediately, finding it easy to pin a name to what John is to him. They can never marry, but they can stay together to satisfy each other – although his own satisfaction is his single concern.  
  
“I don't want that.” John's voice is sharper than he wants. He knows he should acquiesce to last long enough to escape, but he wants something else.

“Don't you?” Jim asks coyly, trailing the pads of the fingers in his left hand down John's chest.

John feels Jim's touch affecting him and he tries to ignore the shivers. His nipple perks a little at the contact, and it arouses him to have Jim feel along his muscles. “What I want is to go to sleep.” John manages to say nonetheless.

“Do you?” That pedantic voice is toying with him like a repetitive parrot, while Jim's sinister hand trails over John's barely clothed hips. When he shifts them again they slide within John's borrowed breeches. “Do you really when you know what we can do to each other?”  
  
Jim's eyes have their own empyrean quality, like some supernatural orb burning so fierce it looks black as night. He stares down into John's doe eyes before leaning down and whispering, “Stroke me, John.”


End file.
